Nothing Else Matters
by Crimson Thesis
Summary: Extension of the Oblivion plotline, following a new sect of the Blades. First part of a big fic, i wont update regulary but they will be coming out... i promise. You'll wanna know at least the story of Oblivion before reading. Review please please please!
1. Rebuild

"Baurus. Your service to the empire, and to all of Tamriel itself, has been extremely valuable."

High Chancellor Ocato's voice echoed throughout the grand council chamber, bouncing off the centuries-old polished stone and folding in upon itself. The effect was almost ethereal. Other than the chancellor's voice, however, the chambers were utterly silent; no guards patrolled the halls, no porters scurried to and fro bearing missives and other sundries. What Ocato was about to propose was for Baurus' ears only. "From what our new champion has told me, you performed admirably and showed promising leadership skills during the Oblivion crisis. Yet, even with skill such as yours, Tamriel still lost the Uriel Septim."

Baurus grimaced and cast his eyes downward. The late emperor's death still weighed heavy on the Redguard's shoulders. He had been there when the emperor had fallen, had slain the assassin, but hadn't been able to protect his charge; he had spent many a night looking somberly over the Jeralls from the parapets of Cloud Ruler Temple, the fortress of his order.

"It was not your fault," Ocato said quickly. He hadn't meant to put it in such a harsh light. "You were heavily outnumbered and caught off guard. You were lucky to leave those sewers with your own life. What I meant to say was just that; you were caught off guard. We had no clue that the Mythic Dawn was amassing a small army, making contact with Mehrunes Dagon, and infiltrating our castle, and therein lies the problem. We had a dossier on Mankar Camoran, but for all we knew, he was just another cult leader. In short our intelligence services are lacking."

"You mean you're running out of spies," Baurus murmured. He had quickly recovered from the mention of Uriel's death, and had regained his composure. "Not quite, my friend," Ocato chuckled, "but close. We need a new sector of the Blades. I have not told any of the other council members about this splinter group of the emperor's bodyguards, and I don't suspect that I ever will. The fewer people that know of you, the better." "Of _us?_" Baurus asked. He had been wondering where this conversation was heading. "Ah. It seems that I have let it slip. I want you, Baurus, to be the first member of this organization. You will be a self-reliant, efficient operative. You will gather information, assassinate targets of importance, go undercover to implode malignant organizations, and you will report directly to me. If the city guard is the long arm of the law, then you are the blade." "I'm interested," Baurus replied to Ocato's somewhat overbearing speech, "but there's one thing I want to know: what are we going to be called? What will be the official title of these 'agents of the empire?'

Ocato grinned at Baurus. "So you agree?" "Depends on what my title will be." The chancellor chuckled slightly, and then lowered his voice. "You will be called… Shadowblades." Baurus looked at the ground, and seemed to be considering the name in his head.

Then he looked up and directly into high Chancellor Ocato's eyes.

"Interesting," he replied. And so the Shadowblades were officially brought into existence.


	2. Tired

Chapter 1

The young man sat among several voluptuous young ladies, laughing and carousing jovially. One arm was draped around fair-haired bosmer, and in the other hand he held a flagon on the hardest Nordic mead he'd been able to procure at the small tavern. "Oh Arctus, tell us another of your fascinating stories," a red-headed, red-faced Breton crooned at him, "they are ever so entertaining!" "I'm sorry love, but I'm all out of stories for the evening. I regret to say that it is about time that I head down to my room." This declaration was greeted with several noises of discontent, and pouts to match them. He placed his hands square on the rough wooden table, downed the rest of his drink, and with some difficulty and a bit of help from the bosmer, stood to face his audience. "That's not to say, however, that none of you are invited," he said with a grin and a flourish of his now-empty flagon. "I rented the room with the biggest of beds!" There were squeals of delight to be heard along with murmurs of consent from the other patrons in the room. They had, after all, been raising quite a ruckus, and the other patrons in the tavern were ready for some peace and quiet.

_Come to think of it, however, _the young man thought, _one of these guys is a bit _too_ interested in my departure._

A dunmer at the counter was looking slightly in the direction of the mob of women surrounding the young man. The odd thing was that he didn't seem interested in any of them at all. When he noticed that Arctus was watching him, however, the elf quickly looked back at his beer.

_I suppose I'll have to deal with him sooner or later,_ the young man thought to himself. _Can't a guy just get some peace and women around here?_

He turned his attention back to the women in front of him. He would have fun tonight; he sure as hell deserved it. "If you would all kindly head this way, I will show you to Arctus' house of earthly delights!" he intoned in his best announcer voice. Several giggles rang out as the entire table's worth of slightly tipsy women piled through the door and into the darkened hallway beyond.

The young man turned to the counter. He would have fun tonight, but he'd be damned if some fetching dark elf was going to ruin it.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Arctus asked the dark elf. "This tavern sells a mean flagon of mead." "It'll take a lot more than that to get _me_ into bed, my friend," the dark elf chuckled. "I heard them call you Arctus. Is that your real name?" the dunmer asked him. "I would be lying if I said that I really was Arctus of High Rock," the young man grinned to the elf, "but I make my business in lying."

No more words were necessary. The assassin drew his blade, a wicked curved dagger which glinted in the torchlight. The young man smiled broadly, "and here I thought we were just exchanging pleasantries!" "Defend yourself," the dark elf growled, and leapt at the young man. The young man ducked under the whistling dagger, and the assassin crashed into a chair behind his target. The elf spun and slashed vertically; the young man simply stepped to the side, only bothering to move one of his feet. Before his assailant could recover, the young man brought his flagon down on top of the assassin's 

head with brutal force. A dull thump reverberated through the tavern, and the assassin staggered backwards. A nearby table stopped the elf's momentum and he sagged, leaning on the table for support, bleeding heavily from the gash in his forehead. "Oh, come now," the young man taunted, "You have a dagger, and I have a flagon. You can do better than that!" The young man didn't give him a chance to recover, however; he flung the flagon directly at the dazed mer, who looked up just in time for the vessel to smash directly into his nose. The young man approached the nigh-unconscious assassin, placed his boot squarely on top of his Adam's apple, and twisted his ankle. The assassin coughed once, and went still.

"You should be able to find enough gold on that one the cover any damages he caused," the young man said dryly to the stunned barkeep, "and I apologize for all the noise."

With that, the young man turned on his heel and went through the door into the hallway towards the rooms. The night had already been eventful enough, and he was interested to find out how the rest would go.

He did deserve it, after all.


	3. Remember

Baurus stood over Jauffre's grave. The grandmaster had been like a father to him, had found him as a boy freezing to death on the outskirts of Bruma. He had just been kicked out for pilfering some food from the local feed store; the young orphan hadn't enough money to buy food for himself, much less warm clothing. It wasn't as though the city guard cared. What difference did it make if the boy lived or died?

He had lived that way the rest of his given days in the Blades, throwing caution to the wind, taking his life in his hands and not caring whether he lived or died. He was careful and discrete, to be sure; his training as a Blade saw to that, but when the fighting started he was always offensive and bold. It brought to mind the time he had fought the elder Camoran sibling in the depths of the Imperial sewers. He had voluntarily taken the place of bait.

He had barely escaped with his life.

Baurus snapped out of his reverie, and cast his eyes around. He was in a small basin outside of Bruma. Jauffre's grave was simple; they had buried him where he fell, as he had requested before the fight. Baurus thought back to that experience as well.

The Imperial Champion had stood by as Martin Septim, bastard son of the late emperor Uriel Septim VII, addressed the small army assembled at the rim of the basin. The army was composed of a ragtag mash-up of city guards from the various cities around Cyrodiil. Baurus had looked around at them, and had known they weren't ready for what was about to happen. He knew, he knew that they would die.

It was a suicide mission. And strangely, he hadn't wanted to be in it.

Before she left, the Champion had taken him aside. "You are the best, Baurus. Take care of yourself." And then, the first gate opened. They looked into each other's eyes one last time, and for a fleeting moment Baurus saw his love for her reflected in her eyes, back at him.

He had suddenly not wanted to die.

Then the horde rushed at them, and they met in the middle of the basin. In the chaos, Baurus had tried to keep tabs on the champion and Jauffre, but lost them both while protecting the young emperor. At first, they had an easy time cutting a swath through the Daedra, but as the second and third gates to hell opened, they began to have trouble keeping the tide at bay. And then, in an instant, the three gates closed, and one enormous gate opened.

Dremoras poured out, roaring an infernal war cry the likes of which had never reached the young Blade's ears. He paused for a moment, as they rushed toward him. The snowflakes hit his face, little motes of cold that quickly turned to steam on his heated flesh. He surveyed the troops; a large handful had been slain in the initial onslaught. He examined the survivors, they looked weary, but determined. He knew they would fight well, even if they knew they were doomed. He saw the champion, his champion, slip behind the roaring daedra and enter the great gate, for time was already working against her. She would have her work cut out for her; she had to stop and incredibly large siege machine from destroying the city behind them. He looked around for Jauffre, and saw him looking back. Jauffre called 

out to his adopted son, "Baurus, no matter what happens you will always be my son! I love you, and Talos does as well! This moment, and us, the participants, will go down in ancient history! We will live forever!" "Father, let us vanquish the evil together!" Baurus cried out in response.

And with a roar that matched the Dremoras', the two charged, as father and son, into battle.

They met with the dremoras before the rest of the forces. They both knew it was the last time they'd fight together. Baurus' last view of his father was of him swinging his dai-katana in long, ferocious arcs, a broad and proud smile on his face.

He looked up, and pulled himself out of his memories yet again. The day was cold, and there were no clouds in the sky. The sun glared down upon him, and it seemed like it should be warm, for the intensity with which it shone; but the wind bit into the side of his face as looked down upon his father's grave again. Quietly, without a word, he turned and walked away from the humble burial site.

Then he stopped. He realized something. He looked over the Bruma. He could see the spot. He could see the area where he had lain dying, eighteen years earlier. He allowed himself a melancholy smile as he continued up the path to Cloud Ruler Temple, the hulking ruins of the siege crawler in the distance behind him.


End file.
